Okay, so you need to know a few things about me. One: I am a highly emotional person (shocking, I know). So when I think stuff is hilarious, I will laugh with all my might. However, when things are sad I will be downright devastated.
This particular devastation happened last week. It was time for Gizmo’s yearly check-ups. The poor guy hates the vet. I pulled out his carrier and like a doomed POW, he just walked into the carrier with this defeated stride. I tried to make it up to him by plying him with treats in his carrier, which he did not indulge in. I tried being upbeat and talking the entire walk from my condo to the car. When we started driving, I tried to keep my upbeat attitude.
Then he mewed. This sad, baleful sorrowful sound that clearly said, “Mommy, why are you doing this to me? Don’t you love me?”
And I lost it.
We hadn’t even got the vet yet and I already had tears.
So we finally get in and go into the examination room. The first thing to do is get Gizmo out of the carrier which is done by tipping the carrier parallel with the table and shaking… kind of like when you’re trying to get ketchup out of the bottle.
When he’s finally out, shaking and making me feel like a villain, we place him on the scale to get weighed. This is when things turned dark.
I felt indignant.
Someone later told me that this was the equivalent of someone who is supposed to weigh 120 weighing closer to 150. I was not aware of this at the time and thought the vet was being unfair… but I also thought that this definitely confirmed my fears that I would make a TERRIBLE mother in the future.
I also thought his logic for getting Gizmo to eat less through the day was…odd.
By the time the actual shot came around, Gizmo had pressed his entire body against my chest, hiding under my hair and trying in vain to get me to protect him. I have never felt like more of a monster. So when the vet came back to the exam room with the needle, this is what he was greeted with.
With what could only be a disgusted shaking of the head and firm “no” he quickly gave Gizmo his shot and ushered us out into the foyer, glad he wouldn’t have to see me for another year at least.
When I told my husband of the day’s events, trying to choke back tears, I was greeted with a sigh, a bemused “only you, Katelyn” and:
He’s the best.
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7 thoughts on “Why I no longer take my cat to the vet”
Last time I took Ivy in, I had to leave her for the day. I called Nathan from the van, hysterical. He had to talk me out of going in and rescuing her from the medical procedure that was totally necessary.
SEE?! YOU GET IT!!!!
You’re awesome!! You’ll be a fantastic Mom! You are so articulate! All Moms have strengths and weaknesses. Your love for the child will cover a multitude weaknesses. No fear no fear. 😀
I feel the same way each time i
go to the vet! I am so glad you’re back to blogging!! Welcome back
Hahaha, I’m so glad I’m not alone! And thank you -hopefully more regular updates in the New year! Christmas is crazy!
My cats loved to go to the vet. Whose the bad cat mother now?
Hahah fair enough!